


A Curious, Wanting Thing

by lit_chick08



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Teenagers have sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-10 01:27:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 13,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3271682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lit_chick08/pseuds/lit_chick08
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Sansa/Margaery stories for Femslash February on Tumblr, each one based around <a href="http://roseroadkingsroad.tumblr.com/post/109781565069/femslash-february-2015-prompts">this list of prompts</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sharing Clothes

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a line in "Fingersmith" by Sarah Waters

She shows up to Sansa's show in a pencil skirt and a blue button down with thin, white stripes running vertically down it. Her heels are sky high, lengthening her legs and putting Margaery almost eye level with her. As always, her chestnut hair is perfect, secured in one of those artful updos that looks casual but takes time and considerable effort to achieve. The purse she carries costs more than Sansa's rent, dangling from the crook of Margaery's elbow, a subtle reminder of her extravagant wealth.

"Margaery Tyrell is here," Baelish unnecessarily informs her, holding her elbow and standing too close as he always does. He is her agent and a necessary evil, but Sansa cannot stand how handsy he gets. "If we can get her to buy something, the rest will sell. Everyone knows she's a powerful collector."

Sansa knows this. She knows the walls of Margaery's loft serve as a showroom of the artists she's spent considerable time and money on, a curator of a museum shown only to those Margaery deems worthy. Her senator father and socialite mother collect the sure things, the recognizable names known to the world, but Margaery prefers new artists, ones she can claim to have discovered.

All of the artists Margaery discovers are women. They are always beautiful though their beauty is never of just one sort. And they are always replaced by the next up and comer.

Sansa doesn't tell Petyr that Margaery already owns one of her sketches, a Sansa Stark original done on lined paper in mechanical pencil during study hall. Margaery is the subject, wearing the same school uniform Sansa wore, the one worn by every girl who ever attended their overpriced boarding school. She wears a navy headband in her hair, shaded in by a ballpoint pen Sansa found in the bottom of her backpack, her chin resting on her hand, the hint of a smirk on her lips.

They'd kissed for the first time after Sansa drew that, hidden in the stacks of the library named after Margaery's grandmother, Margaery's hand stealing beneath Sansa's white shirt and sweater vest to cup her breast.

Sansa forces herself to float around the room, socializing with the gallery's patrons and answering inane questions about inspiration and mediums of choice and her education. This is her first headlining show, the first time a gallery has really taken a chance on her, and Sansa answers each question with a smile because she needs these people to buy some canvases. Her parents' patronage (okay, total financial support) stops in two weeks, the deadline they gave her to make money with her art or else find a full-time job that pays the bills. 

Margaery stands in front of a charcoal sketch Sansa almost didn't put in the show, the sketch out of place among the paintings. It is a nude female form, her face shadowed, and she'd only agreed to its inclusion after the gallery owner insisted. As Sansa comes to stand beside her, Margaery gestures to it.

"I love this. Did you draw from life?"

Understanding the hidden meaning, Sansa says, "No, just imagination."

"It's gorgeous. You have a real gift with the female form." The corner of her mouth twitches as if resisting to smile. "Of course, I've always thought so."

Sansa bites the inside of her lower lip. "That's kind of you."

Margaery arches a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "My, how polite. Are we pretending tonight?" Moving closer, her lips perilously close to Sansa's ear, she whispers, "Because if we are, you probably should take off my dress."

Sansa flushes as red as her hair. She hadn't thought Margaery would notice that the cerulean bandage dress currently clinging to her form once belonged to Margaery, left in a pile on Sansa's floor after a benefit dinner for Senator Tyrell's last campaign. They'd gone to breakfast afterward, Margaery wearing a pair of jogging shorts and a tank top she stole from Sansa's dresser before they went their separate ways, Sansa to the studio to finish an assignment and Margaery to her parents' house for Sunday dinner. The next time Sansa saw her, she was with Arianne Martell, the bandage dress forgotten.

"It looks better on you," Margaery says with a knowing smile. "But if you want to give it back, you know where to find me."

Sansa manages to keep her cool until she reaches the bathroom, exhaling shakily and berating herself for letting Margaery affect her this way. She splashes water on her face and, by the time she leaves the bathroom, Margaery is gone, and the charcoal drawing purchased by her. Petyr is right; once it is known Margaery bought something, other pieces begin to sell, and Sansa knows she should be excited about this, that this is the biggest night of her life.

And yet all she can think about is Margaery, which she suspects is just what Margaery wanted.


	2. Friends to Lovers

St. Katherine's Academy was many things but a hotbed of excitement was not one of them. Sansa had known the moment her parents brought it up that there would be no more cheerleading, sleepovers, or afternoons spent at the mall with her friends if she attended, but every Tully girl had matriculated from there for, like, a hundred years so Sansa said yes.

Arya did not, and every time Sansa checked Facebook or Instagram and saw how much fun Arya was having at home, she wondered if her little sister had the right idea.

She lived in a triple room with Margaery Tyrell and Shireen Baratheon, and while Margaery did her best to keep things lively, the dorm mothers made sure nothing ever became _too_ much fun. Which was why Margaery decided they needed to move the party outside the dorms.

"We're going to break our necks," Sansa said as she ducked under a branch, trying to follow Margaery deeper in the woods surrounding the grounds. "Fall off a cliff or something."

Margaery laughed, the steam of her breath rising above her head like a halo. "Have you seen any cliffs around here?"

"You don't see the cliff. That's why you fall." Pushing her hands deeper into the pockets of her navy peacoat with the St. Katherine's crest - the same one Margaery wore, the same one all the students wore because conformity was the name of the game here - she shivered as a bitter November wind cut her to the bone. "Besides, we'll never be able to sneak out without getting caught."

"Of course we will," Margaery argued, sidestepping a puddle full of rotting leaves. "Do you think Roslin Frey got pregnant by staying in her room under Mordane's watchful eye?"

"I just think finding a cave to go all Dead Poet's Society might not end well."

Margaery shot her a look over her shoulder and scoffed. "Do you seriously think I drug us out here to freeze our tits off and read poetry to each other?"

"I don't know why you drug me out here, Marg! That's why I'm asking!"

With a sigh, Margaery stopped and opened her arms wide. "What do you see?"

Sansa looked around and shrugged. "I don't know, nothing."

"Right! And just through there," Margaery said, pointing into the distance, "is the highway where my brother can pick us up to take us into the city to have actual fun." Stepping closer and taking hold of the cuffs of Sansa's coat, she playfully shook her. "Get it now?"

"Where are we going to go?"

Margaery stepped closer, and Sansa felt her treacherous heart start to beat faster, especially when Margaery touched her forehead to Sansa's. "Somewhere we can do the kinds of things we could never do with Shireen in the room."

"Really?"

Margaery grinned. "Really." 

Sansa swayed a bit, hopeful Margaery might finally kiss her, but instead she started back down the path, calling for Sansa to hurry up before they were late for evening convocation.


	3. Historical AU

"Put on your dancing shoes, San! We're going out!"

Sansa looks at her neighbor as she waltzes into her tiny apartment, untying her apron from around her waist and flopping onto her daybed. "Are you kidding? I just got off a double shift."

"Didn't you tell me the other night I need to get out more and have fun?" Margaery picks up a bottle of Sansa's perfume on the dresser and spritzes some on her wrist. "Well, I took the night off from work and I want to dance."

"I'm dead on my feet, I smell like grease - "

"Blah, blah, blah," Margaery cuts in. "I'm hearing all kinds of excuses when you should be getting dressed."

"But I smell like a grill - "

Margaery picks up the perfume and sprays some onto the front of Sansa's waitress uniform. "We'll cover it with perfume. Now get dressed."

Sansa supposes this is what she gets. Since meeting Margaery at the diner and browbeating her into moving into the all-women's hotel Sansa herself lived in, she's barely given Margaery a moment's peace, trying to bring the reserved Brit out of her shell. If Margaery actually _wants_ to have fun instead of slaving away at the phone company and reading mystery novels in her room, Sansa shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.

She only has one really good going out dress, an emerald green thing with white polka dots that has a white belt that cinches in at her waist. Her mother made it for her engagement party, the same day she gave Sansa the rope of pearls passed down from mother to daughter in their family for generations. And then in the middle of the party, someone yelled to turn on the radio, and suddenly her lovely engagement luncheon became dozens of horrified people listening to what the Japanese had done to the troops in Hawaii. 

Jon enlisted the next day along with all of Sansa's brothers and half the neighborhood. Sansa waited for his return until the telegram arrived telling her there'd be no return, and then she packed whatever she could carry into her suitcase, took all the money she'd saved, and bought herself a one-way ticket to New York City to start fresh. 

Margaery was in the war. She's never said so because Margaery never says anything, but Sansa snooped one day while she was in the bathroom and found a uniform hanging in the back of Margaery's closet. A box atop the dresser held ribbons and medals and a nameplate that read "M. Tyrell" that reminded Sansa of the one Bran had. Sometimes Sansa wants to ask her about it, but she doesn't. The war is over, and Sansa doesn't want to think about it anymore.

"You look incredible," Margaery says, her eyes bright with approval, and Sansa feels herself blush a bit. She picks up a tube of lipstick, swiveling it up and carefully applying it to her lips, acutely aware of Margaery's eyes on her.

No one has ever made her heart beat as fast or as hard as Margaery, and the girl she'd been at home would have ignored it, pushed it down, confessed to the priest about wanting to touch Margaery's skin, kiss her mouth, lie with her the way she was only supposed to lie with her husband.

But Sansa is not that girl anymore so she caps her lipstick, turns to face her neighbor, and says, "Let's go."


	4. Artist and Muse

Studio space is at a premium in the art building, which is why Margaery usually paints at odd hours, scheduling her classes for late afternoon so she can sleep late. The first time she sees the redhead, she is standing outside the dance studio across the way, the lights from the studio casting her in shadow. She is on her cell phone, a dance bag slung over her shoulder, and Margaery doesn't think she's ever seen a sadder person. Girls crying into their phones isn't a rarity on campus, but this girl isn't crying. Her face is like stone, and somehow that seems sadder to her.

Margaery begins to sketch.

Two nights later Margaery sees her again, this time in pink tights and a black bodysuit, her long hair in a traditional ballerina's bun. Toe shoes dangle from her left hand, her cell phone once again in her right. The sadness on her face seems deeper tonight, the corners of her mouth downturned, blue eyes fixed on some distant point. Sometime during the conversation she begins to move her feet, and Margaery recalls from a tortuous year of ballet lessons her mother forced her into that she is going through the positions.

Margaery sketches again, this time staying up all night to get every line right.

"Do you know a redhead who might be a dance major?" Margaery asks Myranda as they have dinner.

Myranda spears a piece of chicken in her salad. "Probably Sansa Stark."

"Sansa Stark?" 

"Yeah, she's tall with red hair. Sometimes I see her stretching outside the studio when I'm walking to the gym. Why?"

Margaery shakes her head. "I just keep seeing her around, so I wondered."

"She's a freshman, lives in the all-girls dorm. I heard her family's kind of messed up."

"Messed up how?"

"I guess, like, both her parents and her brother died in the last year. Crazy, right?"

"Right."

When Margaery sees Sansa again, she swears to herself she's not looking for the younger girl. Though it's hardly convenient to cut through the student center to reach the art building, she does so anyway, making sure to walk past the dance studio. Sure enough, Sansa is there with a dozen other girls, their bags piled in front of the studio door, a thumping hiphop beat muffled while the current class finishes up. Unlike her classmates, Sansa isn't gossiping or laughing; she is in a full split, her toe shoes already on and laced up her calves, her hair in a bun wrapped with a white ribbon. She looks up as Margaery passes, their eyes meeting for a moment, and though she hasn't felt it since she was sixteen, Margaery swears she gets butterflies.

She spends the next twelve hours in the studio, trying to match the blue of Sansa's eyes.


	5. Domestic

Margaery wakes up to the smell of wet paint and an empty bed, the first hints of sunlight starting to filter in through the blinds. With a groan she heaves herself into a sitting position, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Their mattress and boxspring are sitting on the floor, the new, expensive bed frame they bought not being delivered for another week, and Margaery sees that sometime between when her fiancee woke up and apparently began to paint, she gathered their dirty clothes from last night and folded them neatly near the closet doors.

Shaking her head with a fond smile, Margaery pads over to the suitcase she still hasn't unpacked and finds a pair of underwear and a soft, worn t-shirt from law school. Following the hardwood floors Sansa fell in love with when they first saw this place, she finds Sansa standing on a stepladder in what will eventually be Margaery's office, her auburn hair tightly woven into a French braid, using a brush to carefully paint the trim.

"You're insane."

Sansa looks over her shoulder and smiles. "I'm _efficient_. If we waited for you to do the painting, it would never get done."

"That's because I'm busy."

"That's because you're lazy."

"I don't know," she says, coming up behind Sansa and sliding her hands up the long expanse of her bare thighs. "I was pretty ambitious last night."

"You cannot be serious," Sansa chuckles as Margaery's hands slide beneath Sansa's nightshirt and finds the waistband of her underwear. "We have to get the painting done before the furniture arrives or it'll be so much harder!"

"See, you're talking but I'm not hearing anything," Margaery informs her, working the underwear down Sansa's legs. "And besides, I think we could do with a more Spartan existence."

"Says the woman who cried when the Keurig broke," Sansa teases, stepping out of her underwear and off the ladder. 

Sinking to her knees, Margaery urges Sansa's legs apart and smirks up at her. "You're the crazy person that agreed to marry me."

"I'm fucking nuts," Sansa agrees, her voice catching as Margaery's tongue glides over her.


	6. Fairy Tale

She is sixteen today. As Alayne sets about collecting flowers in the forest, singing to herself as she does so, she wonders if she'll finally be allowed to go to court now. Her aunts never let her go anywhere, always keeping her in the house, and Alayne so desperately wants to meet new people, go somewhere else, experience _anything_.

Alayne is gathering blue roses when she sees the horse. She's only seen a handful in her life, usually ridden by travelers who have sought some sort of assistance, and she's delighted by the sight of the chestnut mare. 

"Hello," she says, approaching the mare with her hand outstretched. The horse sniffs her palm before nudging it with its nose, and Sansa giggles.

"Have you made a friend, Rosie?" a lilting voice asks, and Alayne spins to see a woman in riding pants and a fine coat of green velvet standing there, her dark hair tight against her head in a braid.

"She's yours?"

"More like I'm hers," the stranger says, running a fond hand over the horse's shining mane. "I'm Lady Margaery Tyrell."

"Alayne Stone," she says in reply, bouncing a small curtsy. She's never met a lady before but she's read you're meant to curtsy. "It's a pleasure."

"The pleasure is mine."

She's never had a friend. All there's ever been is Aunt Lysa and Aunt Lyanna and Aunt Roslin, and she's longed for someone to talk to about anything and everything. As she and Lady Margaery sit beside the stream, Alayne finds herself never wanting to leave, wanting to spend the rest of her life here on this grass with Lady Margaery. It isn't until the sun begins to set that she exclaims, "Oh, my aunts are going to kill me!" and gets to her feet, rushing down the path.

"Wait!" Margaery calls after her. "When will I see you again?"

"Soon!" Alayne cries over her shoulder.

But it isn't a scolding she finds waiting for her at home. Instead her aunts are seated around the table, a birthday cake sitting in the center, and Aunt Lyanna announces, "There is something we need to tell you."

Her name, Aunt Lyanna explains, is not Alayne at all but Sansa, Sansa Stark, a princess of Winterfell. She hears talk of Queen Cersei and curses, but all Alayne - _Sansa_ \- truly hears is that her entire life has been a lie. When Aunt Roslin gives her the gown they made, she puts it on, numb to the world, and climbs into the carriage that will take her to her true home.

When she arrives, she does not know what makes her climbs the stairs towards the spinning wheel. It is the strongest pull she's ever felt, and even though she hears Aunt Lysa's warning about never touching the spindle, she does anyway and the world goes black.

Her dreams are endless, fantastic and wonderful one moment, tortuous nightmares the next. Sansa doesn't know how long she dreams, but when she comes awake, it is to Margaery's lips on hers, the other girl's hand gently cupping her face.

"What happened?" she murmurs, and Margaery smiles.

"Welcome back, princess," Margaery says, brushing a lock of hair from Sansa's face, and kissing her again.


	7. Food Porn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dessert Margaery is making is [here](http://www.tasteofhome.com/recipes/chocolate-raspberry-cream-puff-ring)

"My agent says I have to keep my weight down if I want to walk in Paris."

Margaery scowls over the stand mixer, adding sugar and vanilla extract to the bowl. "Your agent can blow me. You're the hottest fucking thing on the runway and if a few desserts is enough to derail your career, those French assholes can blow me too."

Sansa laughs, picking up a raspberry and popping it into her mouth. "Your mother would die if she heard you talking like that."

"I like to think my mother has made peace with the fact that I'm nothing she wants to claim." Turning on the mixer, she adds, "Besides, if anything was going to get me disowned, it would have been done years ago when I got the naked mermaid tattoo on my ass."

"Not the nipple rings?"

"Those didn't help, no," Margaery agrees, pouring heavy cream into a bowl before adding pinches and bits of so many ingredients, Sansa can't keep track. "Or the dropping out of Yale to go to pastry school. Also not a huge hit in the Tyrell household."

"Probably as big of a hit as deferring college to become a model." Snatching a handful of chocolate chips, Sansa pops them in her mouth, makes a face, and tries to spit them out as gracefully as possible into a napkin. "Your chocolate's gone bad."

"That's because that's unsweetened baker's chocolate." Grabbing the bag of chips she'd been shaking into a measuring cup, Margaery hands them over to her. "And I thought you weren't supposed to be snacking."

"Well, my girlfriend is a bad influence." Dropping a handful of chocolate in her mouth, licking the bits already melted to her skin away, she asks, "How long is this going to take?"

Margaery laughs, stirring the cream mixture. "Like two hours. How can someone who spends her days sitting around photoshoots for fourteen hours at a time be so impatient?"

"Because sitting at photoshoots doesn't involve chocolate or raspberries, which are two of my favorite things."

Margaery doesn't say anything, working on assembling the cream puffs. By the time she finally pops them in the oven and sets the timer, Sansa has consumed most of the raspberries and extra chocolate chips, and Margaery shakes her head as she comes around the kitchen island.

"So we have thirty-five minutes before the timer goes off."

Sansa smiles, mischief in her eyes. "Whatever will we do?"

"To start, you can get your clothes off."

"Why would I do that?"

Margaery picks up the not entirely empty pastry bag, the cream mixture visible through the plastic. "Because I plan on spreading this all over your tits and eating it off of you, and I don't want to make a mess."

Eyes going wide, breath catching, Sansa pulls her shirt over her head to reveal the expensive shelf bra she stole from her last shoot. "Well, let's not waste those thirty-five minutes."


	8. Neighbors

Sansa always thought she hated living in Maine, hated the snow drifts that ended up taller than she was, the unseen icy spots that sent you crashing to the ground, the heinous snow boots and 5 layers of clothing necessary to keep the chill away. But after only 24 hours in Louisiana, 24 miserable hours of oppressive heat and humidity so thick, it feels like walking through soup, Sansa would go back to Maine in the middle of a blizzard if it meant she could just stop sweating.

Arya, Bran, and Rickon are all outside, Rickon jumping over the sprinkler, Arya pushing Bran's chair around it so they both can get wet as well. Robb and Jon are shirtless, slick with sweat, helping their father fix the gutters on their ancient new house, and her mother is a whirling dervish, dusting, scrubbing, and cleaning every square inch of the house while also cursing every time she encounters yet another bug or tiny lizard.

Sansa sits in front of the biggest, strongest fan they have and prays the air conditioning repairman gets there soon.

When the doorbell rings, just audible over the roar of her mother's vacuum, Sansa lifts herself from her chair, wincing at the way her skin sticks to the wood, and pads to the front door. She expects to find yet another elderly neighbor with some strangely named dessert who somehow talks her way into the house and takes a tour of it while Sansa trails after her in confusion, which is why she's all the more surprised to find a girl her age in a brightly colored sundress, her shining brown hair somehow hanging perfectly straight over her shoulders.

"Hi," the girl says with a bright smile, her honeyed drawl making Sansa smile as well. "I'm Margaery Tyrell from next-door. My mama wanted me to come on over and introduce myself and bring you some of her special hummingbird cake."

"Hummingbird cake?" Sansa echoes, accepting the platter.

"It's the absolute best thing you'll ever have in your mouth."

"Thank you." When Margaery looks at her expectantly, Sansa blushes and says, "I'm Sansa Stark. We just moved here from Bangor. Maine," she adds.

Her new neighbor smirks. "I know where Bangor is. My family has been here forever, and I'm certain your poor parents will hear about it from mine all the damn time." Leaning in and dropping her voice into a stage whisper, she continues, "I'm just so glad you're my age. The last people that lived here were insane Civil War freaks and kept talking about the War of Northern Aggression. I was convinced I'd try to sneak in my house one night, and Old Man Targaryen would shoot me dead thinking I was a Yankee come to invade."

Sansa laughs. "You definitely won't have to worry about that with my parents."

Fanning herself with her hand, Margaery sighs, "I swear, it is so damn hot today. You know, if you want, you can come on over. I have three big brothers, so they might get on your nerves, but we _do_ have air conditioning and Mama also made fresh lemon cakes."

"Yeah, that'd be great! Let me just tell my mom."

"Great."

As Sansa hurries to the kitchen, she tries to convince herself the flush on her cheeks is from the heat and not from Margaery Tyrell's smile.


	9. Mistaken Identity

Sansa knows Arya would make fun of her for spending her Saturday night studying, but unlike apparently everyone else on her floor, Sansa hasn't really taken to college the way she hoped she would. At home in her tiny town, Sansa was well-known: beautiful, popular, ultra-involved in everything. But here nobody cared, there were pretty girls everywhere you looked, and Sansa's initial shyness read "bitchy" to too many people, including her roommate who never came home. Sansa was miserable and wanted nothing more than to go home, and as she hears her neighbors laughing and talking in the staircase, spilling in from the dance they'd spent hours getting ready for at the student center, Sansa grabs her robe and shower basket and heads to the bathroom.

She turns on the shower, cranking it up as hot as she can stand it (and the ancient pipes can take) before stepping inside the stall and hanging her robe outside it. As she begins to shampoo her hair, she wonders if she can convince Robb to pick her up next weekend for a visit home. Maybe if she offers to pay for gas...

When two hands touch her hips, lips finding her neck, Sansa screams, spinning around and pushing away her potential rapist while also trying to wipe Pantene out of her eyes. 

"Oh my god!" her assaulter screams in reply, holding up her hands in surrender. "You're not Myrcella!"

Folding her arms to try to cover all "bathing suit areas" as her father used to call them with a bright red face, Sansa snaps, "No, I'm definitely not! Get out!"

"I'm so sorry!" the brunette swears, jumping out of the stall and grabbing the nearest towel to wrap around herself. The fact that the towel happens to be Sansa's is the least weird thing about this night. "I thought you were Cella! I didn't know!"

"Maybe you should double check before getting into the shower with people!"

As they both pant, their heart rates returning to normal, Sansa hears the stranger offer, "I'm Margaery. I live in D12."

Sansa lifts her face to the spray, rinsing the shampoo from her hair. "Sansa, D7."

"Nice to meet you, Sansa D7. I'm sorry about all this." 

Sansa hears her open the door to the hallway and she's almost relaxed when Margaery adds, "But seriously, no need to cover up. You've got great tits."

"Um...thanks?"

Margaery laughs, the door closing, and Sansa thinks at least she'll have an interesting story to tell Mya tomorrow.


	10. Fake Married

"You need to relax," Margaery says out of the corner of her mouth as she and Sansa enter the grand ballroom.

"How am I supposed to relax?" Sansa counters, her nails digging into Margaery's hand. "There are armed gunmen on the roof. If we get caught, we're going to be tortured and die in a prison cell and no one will ever know because the government will disavow."

Trying to discreetly remove Sansa's nails from her skin, Margaery smiles brightly at the approaching Minister of Finance. "But that is not going to happen because they sent you in with me."

"I'm not a field agent. I'm a tech. This is - "

"Shut up now," Margaery orders before crying, "Minister! My goodness, don't you look even more handsome than the last time I saw you!" At the confused look on the elderly man's face, she continues, "Please allow me to introduce my wife Alayne."

Sansa offers her hand for a kiss, just as Margaery showed her to during preparation for the mission, and manages to choke out, "Such a pleasure," in the Minister's native language.

"Your wife is very beautiful," the Finance Minister tells Margaery.

"I've always thought so," Margaery says, pulling Sansa into her with an arm around her trim waist, and as she presses a kiss to the long line of Sansa's throat, she feels the redhead's pulse flutter beneath her lips.

No, Sansa Stark is _not_ a field agent, but Margaery doesn't mind pretending to be her wife. 

At least until an hour later when she's trying to fight off three enemy agents in a cocktail dress and heels screaming at Sansa to get the gun one of them dropped, who refuses to budge from beneath the desk. Then Margaery vows to never volunteer for a field mission with a techie every again no matter how much she wants to hook up with her.


	11. Arguing (on Vacation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to a rather unfortunately timed migraine, I missed yesterday, so today's fill is both yesterday's prompt ("arguing") and today's ("on vacation")

"I don't understand why you're upset about this."

Sansa angrily throws the comforter towards the headboard before beginning to smooth it out. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious, and why are you making the bed? The maid will do that."

"I am making the bed because I need something to do with my hands other than strangling you!" Sansa snaps, tucking the top sheet under the mattress with a surprising viciousness. "I really need you not to talk to me right now."

"You don't think your parents are going to find it a little suspicious that we aren't talking?"

"No more suspicious than you not showing up for breakfast because I sank you to the bottom of the ocean!"

"Okay, let's relax on the death threats," Margaery says, an edge now in her voice. "This doesn't have to be a big deal."

"It doesn't have to be a big deal that you're texting Brienne? Right, why should it bother me that you're having late night conversations with the girl you _wanted to marry_?"

"There's nothing between us anymore! I've told you that a thousand times. If I wanted to be with Brienne, I wouldn't be with you. You aren't my second place trophy, Sansa."

"How would you feel if you found out I was spending my nights texting Mya?" Sansa challenges, fluffing a pillow with a violent shake. "What if you went into my phone and saw all these pictures she was sending me?"

"I would never go _in_ your phone," Margaery counters, the edge in her voice now sharp enough to draw blood, "because I trust you. Now I realize the opposite isn't true."

Sansa throws a pillow at Margaery, who dodges it easily. "Don't you dare turn this around on me! I wasn't snooping! I was trying to find your mother's phone number so I could thank her! It's not my fault Brienne chose to text you then. And this isn't about trust. It's about respect!"

"How is having a conversation with a _friend_ disrespectful?"

"You don't get to call her a friend if you used to fuck her!"

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Margaery explodes, her anger now raging. "I'm on a goddamn vacation with your _ex-fiance_ and haven't said a thing!"

"Jon is like a member of my family, and he's with his pregnant wife! It's not even the same!"

"It's not the same because there are different rules for you than there are for me!"

"There doesn't need to be rules for me because I've never - " Sansa breaks off, looking away, and Margaery scoffs, shaking her head.

"No, finish it," Margaery goads, crossing her arms over her chest. "There doesn't need to be rules for you because you've never what?"

"I've never cheated," Sansa finishes, sadness replacing her rage.

Margaery grabs her sunglasses and her swim cover. "I think you were right the first time about not talking to me."

"Wait, Margaery - "

The rest of Sansa's plea is cut off by the slamming of their door.


	12. Rivals to Lovers

Her gown is an antique, the same one her mother and grandmother before her wore to their debuts. It is simple, no beading, ruffles, or lace, and the off-the-shoulders neckline displays her freckled shoulders. The string of pearls around her neck are new, a gift from her father, and the only new thing on her other than her low, white heels. All of the other debutantes are wearing stilettos, but Sansa towers over them all by several inches as it is and she doesn't want the focus of her debut to be the fact that she's taller than her father _and_ her escort. 

Margaery's gown is not antique. It is, as she's bragged for the past year, a custom-made extravaganza of lace and beading, so fitted that Miss Cersei refused to let her make her debut in it until it was altered enough that Margaery's breasts were not in danger of escaping. The Tyrells are new money, recent transplants to the tiny Alabama town Sansa's lived in her entire life, and they're all about making their presence known. They joined the country club and spent small fortunes there, they threw over-the-top parties, all the Tyrell boys drove brand-new luxury cars, and Sansa's father thought it was disgusting. Her mother didn't have an opinion until Margaery was crowned Homecoming queen, Sansa relegated to first runner-up, and then she, too, began to look down on the Tyrells.

Since Margaery arrived at school, running against her for Student Council president, being voted co-captain of the cheer squad even though she was brand new, and then taking Homecoming queen, Sansa has hated her. When she announced she'd be making her debut at the Sugar Festival as well, it took everything in Sansa not to channel Arya and cut off all her hair and set her dress on fire. And then she'd stolen Joffrey as an escort! Well, that was the final straw. Sansa tied back her hair, marched over to the Tyrells's tacky McMansion, and planned on giving Margaery a piece of her mind.

This is not what she had in mind.

Okay, that's an understatement. This had never entered her mind at all. At least not with Margaery anyway. Thoughts like this entered her mind all the time, usually in dreams that left her waking up short of breath and frustrated, sometimes in the shower when Arya wasn't beating down the door, occasionally in the locker room when she was trying so hard not to look at anyone, but always when she was under her fluffy pink comforter rubbing her clit and biting her lip to make sure she didn't make any noise that would be overheard by the half-dozen other people in the house.

Margaery's fingers are inside her. It feels different than when she does it to herself, overwhelming and exciting and scary, and she's wet, so wet that it embarrasses her, but that's sort of stupid since she's not the one with her fingers tucked inside someone else. Margaery moves her hand with the same confident authority she does everything else and it weirdly irritates Sansa that Margaery is beating her in _this_ too.

Sansa isn't sure if you can hate someone and want them so much you might explode at the same time. She isn't sure of anything anymore except that she doesn't want Margaery to stop.

A high pitched, wavering moan escapes Sansa's lips and Margaery smiles against her mouth even as she kisses her. "Shhh. My mom's downstairs, remember?"

Sansa isn't sure she remembers her middle name right now but she nods and bites her lip.

As Margaery begins to slide down her body, kissing her stomach and wiggling Sansa's leggings down, Sansa notices the gown for Margaery's debut hanging on the back of her closet door.

Somehow she doesn't think this is how Miss Cersei meant for them to settle their differences.


	13. First Time (Writer's choice of what that is)

"I don't think I'm wearing this right!" Sansa calls through the bathroom door.

Margaery, splayed naked on their bed, rolls up onto her elbows and laughs. "I don't really think it's that hard to mess up!"

"Easy for you to say!" her muffled voice continues. "There are too many straps!"

"It's just like going rock climbing!"

"Why do you think I know what to do to go rock climbing?!"

Dropping her face into the pillows for a moment, Margaery groans and then lifts her head again. "San, I'm asking you to fuck me with a strap-on, not scale Everest! If you don't want to do it, just say so!"

"I didn't say that! I just think I have it on wrong!"

"So come out and I'll help you!"

There is a long beat of silence before Sansa calls back, "I look stupid!"

Forcing herself into a sitting position, Margaery rubs at her forehead. Trying to keep her voice calm and even so as not to upset her, she manages, "Sansa, I don't think you look stupid. The whole reason I asked to do this for Valentine's Day is because I think it's hot, because I think _you're_ sexy. So come on out and if you don't want to do it, we won't do it."

She isn't sure Sansa's heard her words until she hears the click of the lock on the bathroom door. It opens slowly, Sansa hiding behind it, and when she steps into view, Margaery's jaw drops, a sharp exhale escaping her mouth.

Sansa is the very definition of femme, all long hair, manicured nails, and lipgloss that seems to withstand even Margaery's most amorous advances. After three years of dating Brienne with her close cropped hair and men's clothing, it has been a change to be with someone so stereotypically girly. And while Margaery loves Sansa and finds her attractive, she's never been surprised by her. 

Seeing Sansa standing in the bathroom doorframe, lit from behind by the lights on the vanity, wearing an oversized white undershirt that Brienne left in Margaery's underwear drawer and the black harness holding the pink dildo in place, Margaery is genuinely stunned by the depth of want and arousal she feels towards her girlfriend right now.

"I look stupid, don't I?" she says, bottom lip held between her teeth, her hands fluttering at her waist like she wants to cover her fake cock.

"No," Margaery chokes out, scooting back on the mattress and spreading her legs, "definitely not. Come here."

"Really?" Sansa says, a tentative smile spreading across her face. She takes a few faltering steps towards the bed, stopping when her knees bump against the mattress. Margaery leans forward, twisting her hands in the bottom of the undershirt and pulling her close. "You really like this?" she asks as Margaery kisses up her neck.

"Oh yeah," Margaery sighs, hooking a hand around the back of Sansa's neck for a long, passionate kiss. "Now I'm going to need you to fuck me with your cock."

Sansa trembles at her words, her uncertainty starting to melt away. "The stuff you say..."

Cupping Sansa's breast over the undershirt, thumbing her stiffening nipple, she promises, "Just wait until you're inside me."


	14. Bad Weather

"Well, my parents aren't coming tonight," Margaery announces the moment she hits "end" on her phone. "They said the roads are too bad."

Sansa glances out the window of their student apartment. "It's not _that_ bad."

"Says the girl from Alaska. But we're from Mississippi, so we aren't used to feet of snow." Margaery flops onto the uncomfortable couch provided by the university. "This sucks. There's no one left on campus, you're leaving, and I'm going to freeze to death and no one will find me until break's over and my frozen corpse is discovered."

Sansa laughs, parking her suitcase near the door. "I'm glad you're not overreacting."

"San!"

She sighs. "Okay, I'll call my aunt and uncle, I'll tell them I'm not coming until tomorrow when your parents get here, and we'll spend the night together." Realizing what she said, Sansa turns a ferocious shade of red. "You know what I mean."

Margaery smiles. "Yeah, I know."

They still haven't talked about what happened after the party at The Wall, and Sansa isn't sure she'll ever be ready to talk about it. It's bad enough she cheated on Jon. The guilt has been eating at her ever since and she knows she should have told him what happened. But Sansa isn't sure she knows how to to tell him that she and Margaery stumbled back to campus, took a giggly, drunken shower together, and then...And then.

She's known since freshman year Margaery was bisexual. Sansa hated Joffrey, loved Brienne, and still thought there had never been a more attractive couple than Margaery and Arianne. And while they'd kissed a few times, it was never a big deal. Margaery, much like her brother Loras, kissed everyone. But what happened after the party at Jon's place was so much more than kissing.

Sansa tried not to lie to herself but each time she's been with Jon since then, all she can remember is Margaery's face between her thighs, her tongue wringing out such exquisite pleasure from her body, Sansa almost couldn't catch her breath. And it wasn't one-sided. She'd done the same, following Margaery's gasped and breathless instructions to make her come apart on Sansa's tongue, and the next morning when they'd sobered up, they'd done it all over again before Margaery snuck back to her room when they heard Mya get in the shower.

And then they never mentioned it again.

"I have some wine," Margaery says as she walks into their small kitchen, standing on her toes to reach the cupboard over the stove, and Sansa knows if she drinks, if she's alone with Margaery with red wine in her bloodstream and desire in her heart, she'll have an excuse to bring it up, to initiate something, to try to capture the moment with Margaery all over again. She needs to say no, to apologize and say she's going to go to Uncle Edmure's anyway despite the snow piling up outside.

Instead she says, "Pour me a glass," and puts her phone on do not disturb.


	15. Work Place

"Okay," Sansa says as she comes up behind Margaery in the break room as she peruses her vending machine options, "so I'm about 95% sure that I've convinced Viserys he's being recruited by the CIA but I'm going to need some help with the actual call from the President." When Margaery says nothing, her eyes firmly fixed on the chocolate chip cookies, Sansa bumps her hip against Margaery's. "Hey, Tyrell, you in there?"

"I can't keep doing this."

"The cookies? I told you, those things have been in there forever - "

"No, _this_." Finally turning to face Sansa, Margaery's usually smiling face is somber. "What am I to you?"

Sansa's brow furrows. "Margaery, you're my best friend. You know that."

The brunette shakes her head. "And that's it?"

"What - What else would there be?"

Grabbing a bottle of water off of a table, Margaery nods. "Got it."

"No, wait, Marg!" Sansa catches Margaery's elbow to keep her in place, distress on her pretty features. "What's going on? Are you mad at me? Did I do something?"

Margaery sees one of the other salesmen approaching the break room and she sighs, pulling Sansa into the bathroom. The cloying smell of the freesia air freshener starts to give her a headache at once. "You're getting married."

"Of course I am. I've been with Jon the entire time you've known me."

"Right. So why are you calling me at midnight to talk? Why are you flirting? Why are you jealous when I date someone else?" As Sansa's mouth opens and closes as she tries to formulate a response, Margaery steps closer and challenges, "Why did you kiss me after Casino Night?"

"I - I was drunk - "

" _No_!" Margaery cuts in, tears starting to fill her eyes. "You weren't drunk. It wasn't an accident. Why did you do it if you're so in love with Jon?"

Now on the brink of tears herself, Sansa chokes out, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" Margaery scoffs, wiping away a stray tear. "Then maybe you should just stay away from me until you do."

"What? No, Marg, please - "

But Sansa's words don't stop Margaery's retreat, and, not for the first time, Sansa finds herself crying in the bathroom. It takes her longer than she'd like to pull herself together, and when she walks back into the office, no one looks at her in concern. Sansa takes a seat behind the receptionist's desk, her heart breaking at the clear line of vision she has to Margaery's desk in the sales department.

As the phone rings, Sansa deliberately turns away from Margaery's desk. "King's Landing, this is Sansa."


	16. The Morning After

It isn't as if this is the first time she's woken up in a stranger's bed. Margaery is an outgoing person who likes making new friends and having sex with those friends, and she is okay with that. Her older brothers haven't always been okay with it - Garlan has punched a few guys in his time - but while Margaery loves her brothers, she also doesn't give a flying fuck what they think. So if Margaery wants to go to a bar, have a few drinks, and go home with the hottest guy in the room, so be it.

Except the bed Margaery isn't tangled in blue plaid sheets from Target that smell like BO and stale cologne. She's beneath lavender sheets that smell like fabric softener, there are actual curtains on the windows instead of a blanket thrown over a curtain rod, and if Margaery is not mistaken, there is potpourri on the nightstand. 

"Would you like some coffee?"

As Margaery looks at the woman standing in the doorway, a long nightshirt brushing her mid-thigh, her auburn hair woven into a messy braid, she suddenly remembers why everything is different.

"Uh, yeah, that'd be great."

The redhead smiles and then points to herself. "Sansa."

Margaery exhales gratefully. "Margaery."

"Guess we both drank a little too much last night, huh?" Handing Margaery the cup of coffee in her hands, she confesses, "I don't really do this a lot."

Shifting up to rest against the headboard, holding the top sheet against her breasts, she takes a sip of the strong coffee flavored with vanilla creamer. "I may not have remembered your name, but I definitely remember you _not_ be an amateur at what you were doing."

A pink blush fills Sansa's cheeks. "I meant I don't bring home strange, straight girls that I meet in bars."

"What makes you think I'm straight?"

"Um, mostly the part where you kept saying, 'Oh god, this is so much better than a guy, don't stop,' and then ordering me to keep going down on you."

Margaery nods. "That sorta sounds like me."

"It was very flattering. I usually don't get quite that enthusiastic of a response."

"Well you should. That tongue is a national treasure."

Sansa laughs, taking a seat on the edge of the mattress. "You didn't do too bad yourself, especially for a first timer."

"I've always believed if you're going to do something, you really commit to it." 

They sit in silence for a moment before Sansa gestures towards the door. "If you want to take a shower, it's through that door. There are towels and stuff ready for you. I figured you'd...want to book it once you woke up."

"You kicking me out?"

Sansa's eyes go wide. "No! God, no, I wasn't - I just meant - I assumed you'd be embarrassed and want to go."

Arching an eyebrow, hearing a challenge in Sansa's voice, Margaery sets the coffee mug on the nightstand and lets the top sheet drop to expose her breasts. She's pleased to notice how Sansa's eyes fall to them at once, and she subtly arches her back. "Do I look embarrassed to you?"

"No," Sansa rasps, clearing her throat and repeating herself with her voice a bit steadier. "No, you don't."

Kicking the top sheet off of her, leaving her completely bare, Margaery settles back into the pillows and spreads her legs. "Then I think you should give me a little morning refresher course on what we did last night."


	17. Music

The guitar is truly a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship, so expensive that even for someone with millions of dollars, Margaery's only seen Sansa play it in the safety of her music room. When Margaery pads through the darkened hallways of Sansa's two-story apartment overlooking the glittering lights of Nashville, she follows the sounds of the guitar, trailing her fingers over the bright yellow walls she helped paint, her feet cold against the hardwood floors. She wears a short, satin robe of black she modeled in the spring catalog, the overpriced bra, panties, and garters in a heap beside Sansa's massive bed. It is the only thing in this entire place that is not Sansa's tastes, and it always makes Margaery's stomach flip when she sees it, this bold statement that she belongs here in Sansa's most private space. She'd agreed to let Sansa cover it in a pastel bedspread and build a mountain of throw pillows on it, but the bed with its dark wood and canopies is pure Margaery.

Sansa's music room is all Sansa, the place she spends the majority of her time. The platinum certifications and Grammys aren't in here; those are at her parents' house in a trophy case that also displays her siblings' accomplishments. It always makes Margaery laugh, the way the Starks treat Rickon getting a second-place ribbon in the long jump at his elementary school's field day as comparable to Sansa becoming the best selling digital artist of all time. The Starks like music, appreciate it even, but they've never known what to do with Sansa's success.

Her girlfriend is sitting cross-legged on the floor, the guitar across her lap as she plucks out a tune, her brow furrowed in intense concentration. She's gathered her hair into a sloppy fishtail braid that trails over her shoulder to brush the wood of the guitar, but she wears nothing. The moonlight filtering in through the window makes her skin glow like the pearls Margaery bought her mother when she booked her first major runway show. As Sansa begins to vocalize along with her playing, a few lyrics joining the otherwise wordless sounds, Margaery doesn't think she's ever seen anything more beautiful.

"I can't work with you watching," Sansa murmurs as she continues to do just that. She'd tried to teach Margaery some chords once, back when they were still just friends and dancing around what was developing between them. Margaery was as hopeless at it, and her embarrassment had been quite enjoyed by Sansa's legion of Instagram followers.

The same followers who probably wouldn't love to find out their hero, the country girl turned biggest star in the world, is sleeping with her female best friend.

"You always watch while I work."

"You're a model," Sansa laughs, finally ceasing her playing. "If no one looked, you wouldn't have a job."

"True." Sitting on the piano bench, she asks, "What's the song about?"

"You," Sansa answers with her characteristic honesty. "Us. All of it."

"Think it'll make the new album?"

"Maybe." Setting the guitar aside, carefully lying it across the chaise she leans against, Sansa smiles. "Who do you think TMZ will say it's about?"

"Jon," Margaery decides after a moment's thought. "They seem determined to prove he ruined you for life when it comes to love. No one will suspect a thing."

Sansa's smile is so sad, it distracts Margaery from her naked body. "Yeah."

Margaery gets to her feet, extending her hand. "Come back to bed. I can't sleep without you."


	18. Student and Teacher

Sansa finds Margaery sitting on the steps of the library, her peacoat pulled tight around her body, snowflakes catching in her brown hair. The campus is almost empty now, parents having picked up their daughters early to beat the holiday traffic, the campus shuttles driving girls to the train stations and airport. Just yesterday Sansa couldn't look anywhere without seeing teenage girls everywhere, but now there is only Margaery.

Sometimes Sansa feels like all there ever is, is Margaery, but Sansa tries not to think about that. 

"You're not heading home?" she says to Margaery as she comes to a stop at the foot of the steps.

Margaery shakes her head. "My parents went to France for their anniversary. All of my brothers are going somewhere else, and they figured it wasn't a big deal."

Sansa struggles to keep her face from showing her disapproval. What sort of people leave their sixteen-year-old at boarding school so they can jaunt around Europe?

"Is there anyone in your dorm?"

"Just Old Nan." A bitter smile twists her mouth. "Lucky me, right?" Margaery points to the rolling suitcase Sansa pulls behind her on the way to the faculty parking lot. "Headed home?"

"Yeah, my parents rented a cabin for our family in Vermont." The next words fly out of Sansa's mouth before she even has time to consider them. "Why don't you come with me?"

Margaery blinks in surprise. "What?"

"I'll talk to Nan," Sansa continues, knowing she cannot rescind the offer now even as her brain screams at her for being so stupid, "while you pack."

Margaery grins, leaping to her feet and flinging her arms around Sansa's neck. "I'll be 20 minutes, I swear!"

As Margaery runs towards her dorm, Sansa fumbles her phone out of her pocket. She taps the last number on her call log and when Mya picks up, Sansa blurts out what she's done.

"Well," Mya says after a long beat, "it's a good thing your parents live in the middle of nowhere because after this, you're not going to be allowed to live within 100 yards of schools or playgrounds."

"I'm being nice! This is what good teachers do!"

"Eh, good teachers, sexual predators. It's a fine line." 

"I'm just her teacher," Sansa stresses, her heart beating wildly in her chest, "and I'm just being kind."

"Stay away from the mistletoe," are Mya's parting words.


	19. Dancing

The path that leads from the dance studio to the guest cabins is empty this sultry afternoon as Sansa and Margaery walk it. Usually Sansa makes the walk with Jon, but he has a private lesson with one of her mother's friends, the one who always eyes Jon like he is a piece of meat. "A part of the job," Jon always says dismissively, but Sansa thinks he'd rather teach the boring group lessons Margaery does than have to spin middle-aged housewives around while they cling too tight to his shoulders.

She's never spent much time with Jon's partner, and for as much as Jon intimidates her, Margaery intimidates her more. She is so beautiful, so confident, Sansa still isn't sure how anyone will ever think _she_ is as talented as Margaery. Sansa still can't believe Joffrey was such an asshole and won't help take care of the pregnancy Margaery doesn't want.

"How did you become a dancer?" Sansa blurts out.

Margaery smiles. "Jon didn't tell you?"

"Jon doesn't really say anything other than to lock my frame and keep my chin up and that I'm hopeless."

The brunette nods, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "His mother owned a studio. She was a professional ballroom dancer until she had him. He spent a lot of time there because his mother couldn't afford a babysitter, and he and I just clicked. We started dancing together, competed, won a few titles. But it didn't really pay the bills. So now we go from resort to resort teaching people how to merengue."

"But you do so much more than that. I mean, watching you and Jon together..." Sansa sighs and shakes her head. "Even if I learn all the steps, I'll never be like you. When you're on stage, it's...It's electric."

Margaery stops on the path, and for a second Sansa's afraid she's upset her. Then she puts her hands on Sansa's shoulders and turns her until they face each other. "I'll be Jon. You be you." 

Sansa nods as Margaery takes her left hand, Margaery's left hand stealing around her waist. 

"Electricity isn't magic, Sansa." Beginning the steps of the dance Sansa's been learning, Sansa finds she cannot look away from Margaery's eyes. "It's just an illusion, making people see what they want to see. And you know what people want to see?"

"What?" she asks breathlessly as Margaery spins her half-around, her back now pressed against Margaery's front, her left arm curled around Margaery's neck as Margaery trails soft fingers down the underside of her arm. She giggles when Jon does it, infuriating him every time, but laughter is the last thing on Sansa's mind right now. Her heart is racing, her breath is fast, and she thinks she may explode out of her skin.

"Sex," Margaery exhales against her ear before spinning Sansa out and pulling her back in with a smile.

When Sansa gets back to the cabin, she immediately rushes into the bathroom and slips a hand inside her shorts, rubbing herself to a hard, fast orgasm with Margaery's name in her throat.


	20. Literary Inspiration

"Oh my god, we're going to go to jail!"

"We are not going to go to jail!" Arya hisses, pulling things from the cupboards. "We just have to stick to the story! We don't know where Aegon is, I left him in Phoenix, and there's nothing more to it than that."

"I cannot go to jail, Arya! I have two little girls! I can't do this!"

"Yes, you can!" Dropping the items onto the counter, Arya takes hold of Sansa's shoulders. "Nothing bad is going to happen to Lya or Cate. No one is ever going to know that Aegon - "

"Is buried under the winter roses?"

Arya glares and squeezes her shoulders. "I may be a hot mess, but you're a member of the goddamn PTA and a pillar of society. So go out there and talk to the nice detective while I make us breakfast."

Sansa's eyes steal towards the counter. "You're not going to poison her, are you?"

"No! Jesus, that was one time! No, I'm just going to...whip up a little something. Pancakes! The girls like pancakes, right? Now, go be believable."

Sansa nods, taking a deep breath and smoothing her hands over her outfit. As she walks out into the yard where the small patio table is, she finds the police detective talking to her daughters, Lya quiet with observing eyes, Cate demonstrating the one-handed cartwheel she's just mastered. When Detective Tyrell sees her, she smiles, friendly as can be, and Sansa is surprised to feel a little buzz in her stomach she hasn't felt since the delivery truck ended her and Jon's happy marriage.

"Girls, why don't you help Aunt Arya with breakfast?"

As the girls rush into the house, elbowing each other out of the way, Sansa takes a seat and forces herself to laugh, "I hope they didn't drive you too crazy."

"No, they were delightful. I have a lot of nieces and nephews, so I'm used to it." Removing a notebook from her pocket, she asks, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

"I have to say, I've seen pictures of your sister and you don't look alike."

"I take after my mom's side of the family, and she looks like our dad's. Our brothers look more like me."

"And you grew up here?"

Sansa looks at Winterfell with its Victorian edifice, complete with widow's walk on the roof. "Yes. After our parents died, our aunts took care of us."

"Your aunts? That would be...Lysa Tully and Lyanna Stark?"

"Yep." She manages a weak smile. "What else you got in there, Detective?"

The detective smiles. "Please, call me Margaery. This doesn't need to be formal. I'm just asking a few questions, trying to see if I can find this guy. He's...a bad guy."

Sansa scoffs. "Most of Arya's boyfriends are. Since we were kids, she's had the worst taste in men. The aunts used to say she'd date anything as long as it wore a leather jacket and had a misspelled tattoo."

Margaery chuckles. "So you haven't seen Aegon Targaryen?"

"Not since I picked up Arya in Arizona. He'd hit her, and she wanted out."

"And that's it?"

"That's it."

Margaery gestures towards the driveway. "Did you know that the car over there is registered to Mr. Targaryen?"

Panic starting to flutter in her chest, Sansa nods. "Of course. I only bought a one-way ticket, and Arya thought, after what he did, the least she could do was borrow his car."

"And where was Mr. Targaryen while you were...borrowing it?"

"Passed out in the motel they were staying at. Arya said he had too much to drink."

"And you saw him?"

"Yeah. He was on the bed, out cold." Trying to drive the lie home, she adds, "I thought I'd wake him up for sure when I tripped over his suitcase, but he was dead to the world. If you want to take the car back to him or whatever, you can. It was wrong of us to take it." There's a crash inside the house followed by Cate screaming something at her sister, and Sansa is on her feet. "Excuse me for a second."

She is almost to the door when Margaery calls, "Miss Stark, did you and your sister kill Aegon Targaryen?"

Turning back, Sansa tells the truth for the first time all day. "Yeah, couple of times."


	21. Wedding

She doesn't really know Garlan Tyrell or the woman he's marrying, but Renly Baratheon begs her to be his date. Sansa likes her handsome RA and likes his boyfriend, Garlan's little brother Loras, even more, so she agrees. After all, it's not like she has any plans for that Saturday, it's a free meal _and_ free booze, and Renly offers to buy her dress to seal the deal. Which is how Sansa finds herself basically abandoned in the ballroom of the fanciest hotel in the city, sitting at a table of strangers while cursing Renly for sneaking off with Loras.

"He totally ditched you, didn't he?"

Sansa turns around to see one of the bridesmaids standing over her shoulder. She was the youngest of the bridesmaid, the only one who managed to look attractive in the sea foam, toga-style dress, and Sansa finds herself blushing at being caught.

"No, he just - I think he went outside - Maybe he's getting a room - "

Dropping into Renly's empty seat, she whispers, "He's totally upstairs fucking my brother."

Sansa laughs. "You're Loras's sister?"

"Also known as Margaery. And you are?"

"Sansa Stark."

"Stark? Any relation to Robb?"

"Big brother."

"The hair should've tipped me off. My roommate dated him our freshman year." Picking up Renly's untouched champagne, she nods her head towards the exit. "C'mon, let's get out of here."

Sansa hesitates only a moment, picking up her own champagne and following Margaery. They stop briefly at the bar just long enough for Margaery to grab a bottle of champagne before walking out of the ballroom. Sansa follows her across the marble floor of the lobby and Sansa doesn't know where they're going until Margaery pushes open the glass doors that lead to the empty pool area.

"I swear, if I had to listen to that smooth jazz bullshit from the band my mom insisted on, I was going to lose it," Margaery declares, kicking off her heels and hiking up the bottom of her gown. She drops her feet into pool and then throws back Renly's champagne like a shot.

Sansa lowers herself beside her, tugging off her sandals and dipping her feet into the cool water. "It was a pretty ceremony."

"That's because my mom has devoted herself to this for the last two years. She knows the chances of getting to do it with the rest of us is slim to none, so Garlan was her last hope." 

"Why?"

"Willas is in some weird threesome situation with Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand that we all pretend we don't know about but we totally do. Loras is gay, which we also pretend we don't know about because he hasn't come out yet for fear of disappointing our father. And I'm a lesbian, which my mother pretends I never told her so she can continue to try to set me up with men from respectable families."

Sansa smiles. "That doesn't mean you can't have a wedding."

"It does because if I let my mother plan my wedding, I'd probably murder her and end up in jail before I got to marry my wife."

"Fair enough." 

Margaery opens the bottle of champagne, refilling her glass and topping off Sansa's. "What about you, Sansa Stark?"

"Oh, I'd let my mom plan my wedding, but she hated my last girlfriend so much, she might set up a Carrie at the prom theme."

Margaery laughs, kicking her feet and sending droplets of chlorinated water into the air. "Your mom sounds like a trip."

"She's something."

Taking a sip of her champagne, Margaery says, "You know Renly is going to be tied up with Loras for the rest of the night, right?"

"Yeah. I should probably call a cab."

"You could," Margaery allows, "or I could drive you home tomorrow morning after breakfast."

A light blush begins to creep up her cheeks. "Oh yeah?"

Hooking her right ankle around Sansa's left one beneath the water, Margaery nods. "Yeah."

Draining her flute of champagne, Sansa declares, "Sounds good to me."


	22. Language Barrier

She's never seen a kneeler up close, never even saw a crow before her father said they had to flee the Others. They'd snuck under the wall through tunnels, and the smothering darkness terrified Sansa. She didn't know where they were or where they were going. Her family only spoke the Old Tongue and, from the glimpses Sansa stole while they hid, they looked nothing like the kneelers. Their clothing was strange and fine with none of the heavy furs and doeskin pants Sansa wore, and they were so clean. Sansa didn't think she'd ever seen cleaner people in her life.

When the men discover them, drawing their swords and screaming in a strange tongue, Sansa panics. Val tells her to run so she does, runs as fast and far as she can. She was the fastest runner in their village, but a heavy body pins her to the ground, knocking the air from her lungs. Sansa's never been stolen before and she doesn't intend to let some kneeler be the one to do it, so she fights. She cannot reach her dirk, but she scratches his face, brings her knee up hard to catch him between his legs. The man groans, rolling off of her, and Sansa is on her feet, ready to run again when someone else catches her by her long braid.

They slap her in irons, throw her across the back of a horse. Sansa can hear Val cursing atop a different horse, but she doesn't hear their brothers or father. She clenches her eyes shut tight to keep the tears at bay.

The men throw them into cages like they're animals, and Val hisses like she is any time someone comes close. Sansa pulls her knees up to her chin and shivers. It isn't as cold here as Beyond the Wall, but she doesn't like the earthen walls. It reminds her of the tunnels, of being buried alive.

The boy and girl come an indeterminable time later, whispering and carrying a torch. Sansa can tell at once they are brother and sister, and she sees they bear the same flower on their clothing as the men who dragged her and Val into this place. Val immediately draws up and roars at the duo like a shadowcat, hoping they'll be easily frightened, but while the boy jumps, the girl's brow furrows and she says something in a soft, comforting voice.

Both of them are talking now, to each other and to Sansa and her sister, but Sansa doesn't understand anything except the word "wildling." Her father told them that's what the kneelers called them, and that it was a filthy word. They were Free Folk, not wild, but Sansa cannot explain that to these strangers.

The girl steps closer to the bars and holds something out to them, slipping her hand between the bars. Sansa recognizes it is some kind of bread, and her stomach hurts so bad from hunger, she moves towards it at once. Val barks a warning but Sansa ignores her, ravenous. The girl smiles as Sansa approaches, pushing the bread further towards her, and Sansa grabs it from her hands, tearing into it and shoving a piece into her mouth. It is warm and sweet and tastes like something she's never had before and when Val shakes her head at Sansa's offer, she looks at the girl.

"Lemoncake," the girl says, and Sansa repeats the word to herself. 

As Sansa finishes the sweet, the girl points to her brother. "Loras." She then points to herself. "Margaery." 

Understanding, Sansa points to her sister. "Val." She points to herself. "Sansa."

"Sansa," Margaery repeats, her smile wide and friendly. 

She says other things, but they mean nothing to Sansa. All she knows is that Margaery, the girl with the lemoncake, is the most beautiful girl she's ever seen in her entire life.


	23. Kidfic

Sansa hates attending Tyrell political functions on her best days, hates smiling for the cameras and shaking the hands of men who stand for everything she hates all so Mace can paint himself as the progressive face of the Republican party. She goes because she loves Margaery and, as they're married now, it's harder to make up excuses to avoid them. But now that she's eight-months-pregnant, Sansa has no patience for this. She is boiling in her gown, the straps of her shoes are cutting into her swollen feet, her back aches, she has to pee every five minutes, and if one more old man tries to touch her stomach, she's going to turn homicidal.

Finally escaping an endless conversation with Selyse Baratheon about her church, Sansa carefully lowers herself into her seat with a groan. She rolls her head to one side in search of her wife and freezes when she spots her near the bar with Myranda Royce.

It's silly to be jealous. The logical part of her brain knows that. Margaery is a practiced flirt but she's also never been anything but loyal. She'll giggle, flip her hair, touch someone's hand, but she'll never cheat. Sansa knows this. But as she watches Myranda move closer, thrusting her breasts forward and making it perfectly clear to anyone with even the most basic sense of sight that she is more than willing to lead Margaery astray, Sansa doesn't feel confident in her marriage. She feels fat and sweaty and disgusting with pink stretch marks mapping her belly and breasts, and she just wants to cry.

"Are you okay?" Garlan asks, concern furrowing his brow.

Sansa nods before extending her hand. "Could you help me up? I'm not feeling very well."

Margaery's middle brother is on her feet at once, gallantly offering his elbow. He escorts her up the stairs towards one of the numerous rooms, and when he opens the door to Margaery's childhood bedroom, Sansa is so happy to lie down, she forgets to say thank you.

She curls up on her side, finally letting the tears roll down her cheeks. Sansa isn't certain how long she's been lying there when the door opens and she hears Margaery call, "Sansa?"

"Just go away," she sniffles.

"Sansa, what's wrong?" Margaery asks, climbing onto the bed behind her. She fits her body around Sansa's, her left hand resting on the swell of Sansa's stomach, and Sansa finds herself tearing up again at the sight of the silver band on Margaery's ring finger. "Tell me."

"Myranda," is all she can get out before breaking down again, and Margaery holds her closer, pressing a kiss to Sansa's neck.

"San, I have no interest in Myranda Royce."

"I know, but she's so thin and pretty and I'm - "

"My wife," Margaery cuts in, "and the mother of my child. If I didn't want to be with you, I sure as hell wouldn't have knocked you up with my brother's sperm."

Sansa can't help but laugh, wiping her tears away. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard you say."

"You bring it out in me." Kissing her neck again, Margaery slides her hand from Sansa's stomach to her thigh, slipping her hand beneath the loose fabric towards Sansa's underwear. "Want me to prove it?"

Pushing against Margaery's hand as it slips beneath the waistband of her underwear, Sansa murmurs, "You really don't want Myranda?"

"I really don't," Margaery swears before there is no more time for talking.


	24. Supernatural Creatures/Superpowers

"Are you mute?" a brunette asks, dropping into the desk beside Sansa.

Sansa looks at her, eyes wide, and shakes her head.

"So you're not mute. But you don't talk?"

Sansa shakes her head again.

The brunette frowns. "Ooookay. I'm Margaery. Do you have a name?"

Sansa picks up her pen and writes her name neatly atop the lined paper, showing it to Margaery.

"Sansa," Margaery reads. "That's a nice name. So what's with the not talking? Is it a power thing? Do you cause hurricanes? Have toxic breath?"

Sansa cannot help but laugh at the idea. Grabbing her pen again, she writes _Mockingbird_ , and Margaery frowns again as she reads it. 

"Mockingbird? You turn into a bird?"

"Mockingbird? You turn into a bird?" Sansa repeats in Margaery's voice, biting the inside of her lip to keep from smiling at Margaery's look of absolute surprise. It is the first time since Sansa's spoken since her intake with Professor Luwin, and her throat feels better from use. 

Margaery reaches across the desk and picks up a wilted dandelion someone had left behind from the last class. Holding it in the palm of her hand, Margaery sets her another hand atop it and a moment later pulls her top hand away to reveal a bright, vivid sunflower. Handing it back to Sansa, she says, "Welcome to the freak show, Sansa."

Sansa tucks the sunflower behind her ear and smiles, blushing brightly as the teacher enters the classroom.


	25. Star-Crossed Lovers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in "The Only Crime is to Lose" universe.

"You know, I didn't think you had it in you to do all this," Margaery says as she and Sansa ride in the back of the Martell provided town car. "You were always so sweet."

"Yeah, well...people change."

 _Like you_ , Margaery hears in the pointed silence that follows.

"You know I'm on your side."

Sansa turns her bright blue eyes on her, fire burning behind them. "I don't know that. In fact, what I know is that the only side you're ever on is your own."

"You talked to Jeyne. She explained - "

"What, do you think you get a gold star because after your family helped railroad mine into destruction, you tried to mop up the mess?" Sansa scoffs. "My father is dead, my brother will never get out of prison, and by the time my uncle gets out, his kids will have kids. _Your_ father did that and _you_ agreed to marry the monster whose family orchestrated it. So don't sit there and tell me on you're on my side. You can't even begin to comprehend what my side looks like."

"You think I wanted this? You know I loved your family. You know I loved you - "

"Stop!" Sansa orders, her voice tight. "You don't get to say that."

"That doesn't make it less true." Margaery starts to reach for Sansa's hand but Sansa jerks it back, cradling her hand against her chest. "We were in love, Sansa. We were going to get married, get out of this life. That's all we wanted."

"And then when things got hard, you fell in with your family while mine fell completely apart." She shakes her head. "Arya could be dead in a ditch somewhere. Rickon is another week away from becoming a full-blown member of the criminal underworld. Bran can't walk and never will again because a Lannister bullet severed his spinal column. My mother - " Sansa's voice breaks before she regains her composure. "My mother is a shell of the woman she was. Am I supposed to forget all of that because you gathered up the widows of the men you helped destroy to try to push back?"

"At least I'm doing something!" Margaery insists, her own anger starting to get the best of her. "Do you know what my family would do to me if they knew? What the Lannisters would do to me?"

"I think I know a little better than you do." Sansa looks out the window at the Philadelphia skyline. "You have no idea what happened to me after you played along. The things I had to do - " This time Sansa doesn't pick up again but Margaery knows. Everyone has heard that Petyr Baelish slithered in during the downfall of the Stark family to try to take advantage. The stories the bastard tells now...Margaery's thought of killing him herself.

"I will do anything to have your trust again, San," Margaery swears. "You've just got let me in."

Sansa looks back at her, tears shining in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Margaery, but the girl who could do that? She died a long time ago."


	26. Family Ties

Of all of her siblings, Sansa has always been closest to Robb. Her big brother, her staunchest defender, her therapist, and her best friend, Sansa doesn't think she'll ever love anyone as much as Robb, and she knows it's mutual. While most brothers and sisters fight like crazy, she and Robb never have and Sansa couldn't even imagine a scenario where they _would_ fight.

But _this_ \- making out with his fiancee in the bathroom of the club they're all at to celebrate Jon taking the bar - this will definitely do it.

"We need to stop," Sansa gasps as Margaery's mouth slides down her neck, her hand stealing beneath Sansa's halter top.

"In a minute," Margaery replies, cupping Sansa's bare breast. "Just one more minute."

The bathroom is loud with women talking at the sink, knocking on the doors of the stalls, and shouting to be heard over the music, and Sansa is grateful for it. She knows she's making too much noise, that anyone has to know what's happening inside the stall. Hells, if Val came in, she could go right back out to the table and tell Robb. Commonsense and basic human decency tells her to stop this at once.

But Margaery chooses that moment to twist her hardened nipple, and Sansa is hauling Margaery's mouth back up to hers, thrusting her tongue inside her mouth.

Robb was the first person she told she was a lesbian. She was thirteen, Robb was sixteen, and he'd helped her tell their parents. They were seldom attracted to the same girl, something Robb found endlessly amusing, and when he started dating Margaery, openly bisexual and an ex of Robb's ex Jeyne, Sansa easily admitted to him that she thought Margaery was beautiful. But finding Margaery objectively beautiful was a world away from betraying Robb in a club bathroom.

Sansa puts her hands on Margaery's chest and, instead of cupping her breasts like she wants, she pushes, sending Margaery back a few inches. Righting her halter top, smoothing her hands over her hair, Sansa chokes out, "We can't," before exploding from the stall, nearly bowling over a tiny girl in a tube dress. Sansa doesn't stop moving until she's outside the club, her purse and coat still in the booth with Robb and their friends, but Sansa doesn't even think of going back for them.

Instead she fishes her phone out of her pocket, calls Mya for a ride home, and doesn't text Robb that she's gone until she's safely back in her dorm where she cries herself to sleep.


	27. True Love

"Are we really doing this?"

Margaery grins, handing Sansa the bouquet of sunflowers. "We're really doing this."

Sansa giggles. "Our parents are going to kill us."

"Probably," Margaery agrees, lacing her fingers through Sansa's as they walk through the casino, the hem of her white lace dress brushing the tops of her knees, "but isn't this better than months of our mothers fighting over everything?"

"And our fathers complaining about how expensive everything is."

"And our brothers sniping at each other."

"And Arya complaining about any bridesmaid's dress I might suggest." Sansa nods with a little breathless laugh. "This is better."

Margaery tugs on Sansa's hand, brushing her lips against Sansa's. "In twenty minutes you're going to be my wife. You ready for that?"

Sansa rests her forehead against Margaery's, a large smile spreading across her face. "Absolutely."


End file.
